


The Most Undateable Girl in London

by theSapphireSky



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Teeny bit o'angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 01:33:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16030247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: The headline screamed: The Most Undateable Girl in London.As if that weren’t bad enough, the article was rife with testimonials from her so-called dates, led by the notorious Tom who still hadn’t moved on from being dumped. All of whom had one thing to say: it was impossible to date a girl on whom Sherlock Holmes had already staked a claim.





	1. The Most Undateable Girl in London

“Well, that’s just ridiculous.” Sherlock scoffed and tossed the tabloid into the bin where it belonged.

John rolled his eyes. “It’s not so ridiculous, Sherlock. I mean, when was the last time Molly had a serious boyfriend?”

Sherlock paused, thinking. “There was the copycat. Tim. No, Tom. She almost married him, in fact.” He couldn’t help it if his stomach churned at the thought.

“That was nearly two years ago, mate. I don’t think she’s been on a second date since, let alone a third.” He said the last bit under his breath, but Sherlock heard and shot his friend a dirty look.

“All I’m saying is that maybe there’s some truth to that rubbish,” John clearly was trying to deflect.

Sherlock eyed the tabloid in the bin. On the cover, plain as day, was a candid shot of Molly Hooper in the bright yellow concoction she’d worn to the Watson’s wedding, being led out of a restaurant by Sherlock himself, her date ( _Error: No Name Found_ ) shouting after them. The headline screamed:  **The Most Undateable Girl in London**. As if that weren’t bad enough, the article was rife with testimonials from her so-called dates, led by the notorious Tom who still hadn’t moved on from being dumped. All of whom had one thing to say: it was impossible to date a girl on whom Sherlock Holmes had already staked a claim.

“Preposterous. If any of those idiots had a two neurons to rub together, they would know what an amazing woman Molly Hooper is. They don’t deserve her and this rubbish just proves it,” he snarled and grabbed his vial of isopropyl alcohol, pouring it into the bin before dropping in a match with an almost threatening calm.

Flames erupted, licking the tabloid edges before devouring it entirely, the flickering light dancing eerily across Sherlock’s blank face.

John just raised his eyebrows and grabbed the nearest fire extinguisher. If those two didn’t shag by the end of the week, Baker Street would be a pile of ash.


	2. The Most Unmarriable Man in the World

Well now she was just being stubborn.

“Molly, do stop being so ridiculous.” He tugged the sheet around himself as he followed her out of the bedroom. She stumbled, trying to put her shoes on, shrugging off his questing hand.

“Ridiculous?” She snapped and grabbed her bag. “Yes, how utterly ridiculous of me to want more than just a shag here and there.”

“But  _dating_ , it’s so…plebeian,” he argued.

Scoffing, Molly rolled her eyes and walked out, stomping down the steps, Sherlock right behind.

As she threw open the door, the shock of the sun made him squint and he briefly remembered his state of un-dress. But he couldn’t let her go. So he followed her out into the street and caught her elbow as she raised her other arm to hail a cab. “Why are you being so adamant about this?”

“Because I don’t want to be just your dirty little secret.” She yanked her arm out of his grasp as a cab pulled up. “You don’t want to date me, but you don’t want other men to, either.”

Oh, he knew this would bite him in the arse. That bloody tabloid.

“Then marry me.”

She stilled, brown eyes going wide in disbelief. “What?”

“The purpose of dating is to test compatibility. Obviously we passed with flying colours,” he gestured toward his sheet-toga. “You are seeking reassurance that I am invested in our relationship. Rather than waste time  _dating,_ let’s skip to the last step. Marriage.”

It was logical and he preened at his deduction, sure she would see sense, give him a bright smile with a few happy tears while shouting “yes, of course!” (isn’t that what usually happens, after all) and they could resume their previous activities.

Only. She didn’t look happy. She actually looked a little-

_Slap!_

His head snapped to the side.

“You’re being irrational!” He cradled his stinging cheek.

Her eyes blazed and she shouted back at him, “Irrational? How’s this for irrational. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on Earth!”

She wrenched open the cab door and jumped in, slamming it behind her.

Standing on the street, cheek burning, Sherlock stared after her.

Only when the cab disappeared around the corner did he notice them.

Standing just down the street was a trio of reporters, their cameras glinting in the morning sun, who looked as if all their dreams had come true.

_Damn it._


	3. The Only Woman in the World

> _Once again, Sherlock Holmes can be seen leaving the home of his friend and partner in anti-crime, John Watson. The detective sports a scruffy beard, his tailored, Armani suits traded for sweatpants and loud sunglasses. It seems that a week without the mystery woman last seen running away from a deliciously-disheveled detective has done a number on-_

“’Deliciously-disheveled detective?’” John snorted and looked over the top of the magazine. From his place curled up on Watson’s sofa, Sherlock just yanked the blanket closer and burrowed into the cushions. Taking pity on his friend, John tossed the tabloid away to land on the growing pile, glossy photos of Sherlock covering the front of each. It appeared to be a slow news week and Sherlock’s drama with his not-girlfriend was prime fodder for the piranhas of the press.

“She still won’t answer your texts?”

Sherlock shook his head. “She won’t answer my calls, either.”

John raised his eyebrows. For Sherlock to text  _and_ call…well, the bloke must be truly head over heels. Too bad he’d gone and screwed it all up.

“Well, I’d be pretty steamed, too.”

Sherlock shot up, sending his friend a look of utter betrayal.

John raised his hands in defense. “I’m just saying, if I were in Molly’s place,  _not that I want to be_ ,” he emphasized, stinging from the resurging speculation in certain tabloids. “If the person I loved for years kept ruining my dates, then proposed to me just to keep shagging on the side, I’d have done a hell of a lot more than slap them. Not exactly the most romantic way to ask the woman you love to spend the rest of your life with her.”

Here, he paused and scrutinized Sherlock closely. “You  _have_ told her you love her, right? Not just…” He waved his hand in reference to the Phone Call.

“It was  _implied_.”

John stared at him. The detective stared right back.

Realizing Sherlock still didn’t see where he’d completely cocked it up, the right side of John’s mouth tipped up in a disbelieving scoff. “You’re an absolute, utter idiot.”

****************

The upside of it all was that the press had no idea who she was.

The downside was that it was only a matter of time.

The photos of her were blurry and from the back, but unmistakable to anyone who knew her and recognized the cherry print cardigan she favoured. Not to mention, her coworkers were eyeing her suspiciously the last few days, as if trying to determine if it was possible that the little morgue mouse like her managed to get The Sherlock Holmes in the sack.

She’d been forgoing quite a bit of machinery in favour of manual labor, taking out her anger and hurt with a pair of rib cutters on each autopsy and successfully keeping her nosy coworkers at a safe distance.

Sherlock hadn’t stopped trying to get in touch, her phone regularly pinging until she finally just turned the damn thing off. She was not in any mood to talk to him and he wisely kept a wide berth around both her flat and Bart’s.

The tabloids weren’t helping, though. His face stared at her everywhere, people were gossiping and trading trash mags back and forth like they were currency.

The last image that caught her eye as she walked past a newstand, despite how she tried not to look, was of him on some unknown street, dressed in sweats and an old raincoat, his curls greasy and sporting a week’s stubble. She stopped dead, her mind going back to the last time she’d seen him like that, his cheeks turning red from where she’d slapped him, his eyes glazed with heroin.

Her blood ran cold. He wouldn’t…he-not because of her. He  _promised._

Scrambling for her phone, she nearly dropped it before turning it on and impatiently waiting for it to boot up, her heart racing.

With a happy ping, it connected and within seconds it was flooded with messages, missed calls, and voicemails.

She ignored them all and immediately pressed his contact, biting her lip as it rang. Around her people moved, glaring at her for standing in their way, but she didn’t even notice.

“Molly?” She tried not to let how his voice, deep and hopeful, resonated in her soul.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Sherlock.”

“What is it? What’s happened?” Of course, he would know something was wrong. Probably from the timbre of her voice…or the fact that she was calling after a week of giving him the cold shoulder.

“Nothing. I just…” Suddenly, she felt very small, ashamed. The words, the accusation, was on the tip of her tongue, but the words were bitter. Like acid, poison.

He had promised and she had trusted him. She  _needed_  to trust him now.

“I missed you,” she admitted softly.

“I missed you, too.” She heard the relief in his voice, the warmth that she missed.

For the first time in a week, she smiled. Without thinking, she began walking again.

“How are you?”

“Could do with a shave,” he drawled.

Laughing quietly, she pictured his scruffy face and felt her cheeks heat. “I don’t know, the beard looks good on you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. How are you?”

She paused at a crosswalk. “Better now. I think I scared off a few of the interns this week.”

He laughed and she smiled in response. They fell quiet for a moment; the only sounds were the bustling streets around her.

“Sherlock, I-”

“Molly-”

They both started at once and stumbled over each other.

“Please,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “Let me say this.”

She swallowed. “Okay.”

He took a deep breath.

But he didn’t say anything. She waited… looked down at her phone to make sure the call was still connected.

“Sherlock?”

“ _Willyoumarryme_?”

He blurted it out as one word and she blinked, coming to a stop. “E-excuse me?”

She could almost see him roll his eyes at having to repeat himself. “Will you marry me?”

Her jaw tightened. “Sherlock, we’ve been over this. I’m not going to marry you so we can just keep shagging.”

“You did not have all the facts before,” he replied logically. “That’s not the reason I want to marry you. Well, not the  _only_ reason.”

She hugged her arm around her middle and stared hard at the ground. “Fine. What’s the other reason? Why do you want to marry me?”

“Because I love you.”

Only it didn’t come from the phone pressed to her ear. She pulled it away, heart thundering.

_Call disconnected._

Looking up in surprise, she took in the familiar surroundings of Baker Street. She turned around, wide-eyed.

Standing just behind her, beard neatly trimmed and dressed in her favourite aubergine shirt, Sherlock looked down at her, his eyes clear and warm, their seafoam depths pulling her in.

“Marry me,” he said again, taking her hand in his. “Because I love you. Because I want to have a family with you. Because you are the only woman in the world for me.”

She couldn’t feel her legs. Was that normal?

“Molly?”

He was starting to look worried.

She nodded once, again, then vigorously, a smile spreading across her face so wide it hurt. He sagged in relief, pulling her against him, his free hand warm against her cheek, his lips finding hers with unerring precision.

“I love you, too,” she breathed when they broke apart. He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, sharing her smile, before capturing her lips again. His arms came around her waist and she held onto his shoulders for dear life.

She could very much get used to this for the rest of her life.

Neither noticed the crowd gathering on the other side of the street or the sound of a camera shutter. Neither particularly cared.


End file.
